


Start

by shadowsamurai



Category: Sherlock Holmes (1984 TV)
Genre: Angst, Drama, Drug Use, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-20
Updated: 2012-06-20
Packaged: 2017-11-08 04:27:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/439142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowsamurai/pseuds/shadowsamurai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You've really gone and done it this time, haven't you, old man?" he says as he stops and looks at his friend. His eyes are closed and his expression is one of torment, and the doctor feels his anger fading. Maybe it's time to start looking at things from a different point of view.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Start

**Author's Note:**

> Companion piece to 'Stop', but can be read separately.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, I'm just borrowing things for a while and I promise I'll put everything back exactly how I found it when I've finished. Well, almost exactly how I found it. ;)

SH-SH-SH-SH-SH-SH

He's tired when he enters Baker Street, a bone weariness that he knows won't be easy to shake, and while he knows he really should be on his way home, he decided first to call at his old residence to see his old friend. He hasn't been around as much of late and he feels awful for neglecting the great detective, but needs must, or at least that's what he tells himself. In truth, he has found it increasingly difficult to cope with his friend's destructive behaviour, unable to fathom the reason why he has turned more and more to the needle and the bottle. In truth, he doesn't really want to examine the reasons to closely, worried that he'll find himself being the answer, worried that he really did abandon his friend. Of course he doesn't really think said friend would think of his re-marriage in such terms, but then again, he isn't really sure what the great detective thinks. Though he knows he had always been a solitary man, and in some ways still is, something seemed to change when they started lodging together. Many a time the detective would insist on him staying while a client regaled them with their story, or all but demanded he accompany him on some foolhardy journey. It was almost as though something great had started that day, so many years ago...

He knocks on the door but there's no reply. He tries again. The most patient woman in London, who also happened to be the tough landlady of the premises, wasn't downstairs, so he couldn't ask her as to his friend's whereabouts, and he was just about to leave when he heard a loud 'thud' emanating from the sitting room.

Without thinking, he threw the door open, wincing a little as it banged against the sideboard, but all worries about damaging the furniture went straight out of his head as he saw the crumpled form of his friend on the floor in front of the fire. He hurries across the room, feeling the beginnings of anger and panic forming together, intertwining, setting fire to his veins. Maybe it was time to start being firmer with his friend. Maybe it was time to get him starting to stop his vile habit.

"Holmes! Holmes! Can you hear me?" he shouts, worried by the lack of response and the expression on his friend's face.

Though he's tired, and though the detective is a dead weight for such a thin man, he manages to drag him into his room and hauls him onto his bed. It's a difficult task, but for him, the doctor manages it. Satisfied his friend was settled, he grabbed the pitcher and poured a glass of water, which in turn was poured down his friend's throat. A cold compress to his face followed as the doctor tries not to shake too much. After a while, the sitting still was just too much and he jumped to his feet, pacing up and down by the side of the bed.

"You've really gone and done it this time, haven't you, old man?" he says as he stops and looks at his friend. His eyes are closed and his expression is one of torment, and the doctor feels his anger fading.

"Don't...de...serve...you, Watson," the detective croaks.

He stares at him for a long time, so long that he thinks his friend has gone to sleep, but he can tell with the slight twitching of his face that he hasn't. "No, you don't, but this is what friends are for," he tells him eventually.

He suddenly sits down in a chair next to the bed and lays his hand on the detective's arm, in the crook of his elbow where the needle goes into the vein. He starts to wonder what he would be without this man, what his life would be like if the detective should... He shakes his head, refusing to finish the thought, but he can't help starting to think the worst. He has always had friends, of course; he is, after all, a most amiable chap. But meeting the detective redefined his definitions of 'friendship' to something more than brothers...more than family. And although his marriage has taken him away from that friend, he does not want to imagine, simply *cannot* imagine, his world without him in it.

"Holmes, I really think it's time you stopped..." The doctor trails off, his voice cut off by pure emotion.

He's been petitioning his friend to stop his ruinous behaviour for years now, not just because of his health but for the sake of their friendship. So there wouldn't be any more days like today. In the back of his mind, he knows why the detective does it, the tedium of every day life just too much for him to cope with, but even so... The doctor shakes his head. He's starting to see things clearly and he doesn't much like what he sees. He knows he doesn't have his friend's deducing skills, but he can take an educated guess as to what has happened; he only wonders how far wrong he is.

He know the detective is a strong man, despite his vices, and not prone to bouts of emotionalism but the fact that he was on the floor when the doctor entered the room, having just collapsed, his sleeve rolled up and the needle close by says that he was indulging in his habit. But what was the reason for the collapse? He knows his friend only buys the good stuff, no worry of his cocaine or morphine being tainted, and he looks in perfect health otherwise, so what could it be?

He stands and begins pacing again, and as he does so, he starts to see things clearly... For as his dear friend says, when all possible things have been eliminated, whatever remains, however improbably, must be the truth. And the only truth that he can come up with is the fact that his friend was lonely, perhaps even feeling abandoned. It might have even sounded crazy if not for the uncomfortable sensation that had settled across his shoulders, shivering down his spine. It was true, he had spent less time at Baker Street recently, but he was married...yet was that any excuse really? Friends did not abandon each other and they were certainly the best of friends, if not the closest of brothers. Of course no one expected him to give up everything in his life completely, least of all the detective, but he starts to see that the great detective is more so because of him. And more than seeing, he starts to *believe*.

He sits down once more and studies his friend's face so carefully, noting every line, every pale patch of skin, everything about the detective seems so much clearer. And he sees he's needed. He sees how much fuller his own life is with his friend in it. Yes, it won't be easy balancing spending time with his wife and with the great detective but he has managed it once, he can manage it again. Because even though the detective has problems, even though he acts like a machine, he isn't one, and the doctor knows this.

And so he thinks it's time to start afresh, anew. Again. Even if it means having to do this on a regular basis, sit next to his friend after he's taken an overdose, just to make sure he's okay. To make sure he's not alone. Even if he just comes to visit just because. To make sure he's not alone. Because it's time to start looking at things differently.

If only for a short time.

FIN


End file.
